


The Day Dream

by boxoftheskyking



Series: Many Roads to Hell [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-05-17
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxoftheskyking/pseuds/boxoftheskyking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't believe he said it out loud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before John meets Sebastian. Can work as a stand-alone.

He can’t believe he just said it.

_Don’t be dead._

It’s not something an educated man, a doctor, would let himself say aloud.

_Just stop. Stop this._

Idiot.

It’s a dream he has, and he can’t stop it. It happens when he’s in the in-between spaces. On the Tube, inside cabs, while waiting for a patient to walk in the door. Before the fake smiles and the conversation and the “fine, just fine.”

In his dream, Sherlock comes back. He tries to stop it, tries hard enough that it’s carved deep lines around his mouth and between his eyes. His neck has a constant clench, his jaw a firm and aching tightness, all from trying to stop the dream.  _You’re awake, you idiot_ , he shouts to himself as he lets his brain slam imaginary bruises onto his own expressionless face.  _You can stop it, you’re awake._

In the dream, it is a day like any other. John is coming home from work or watching the telly. And Sherlock just . . . appears. He appears in the doorway, exactly as he was the day he

the day he

the day

And John stares at him, in shock, and as he dreams he can feel an echo of the shock, the breath catch in his throat, the sudden stutter in his heart. It’s ridiculous, he knows, but he can feel it.

And Sherlock explains, somehow. The details don’t matter; that part of the dream is always a blur. At some point, in some versions of the dream, John begins to cry. He feels no shame, not until he feels heat behind his real, living eyes and realizes he is about to cry while waiting in line for a cup of coffee. He thinks, in those moments, that he could kill himself. Out of spite.

Then, in the dream, John becomes angry. He rises, steps forward, puts down his book or his coat or his plate, and takes a swing at Sherlock’s face. He does not try to avoid his nose or his teeth. It isn't a particularly elegant punch, a wild haymaker straight from the shoulder.

Sherlock’s hand flies up and stops the fist. It’s habit, nothing intentional. Reflexes built from years of looking after himself. John can see in his eyes that it was unintentional, and that he regrets it. He drops John’s hand, eyes flicking down to the floor, not bashful— ashamed? Sad? Scared? Scolded.

“I’m sorry,” he says—rumbles, really, between barely-parted lips. “You can hit me. Please hit me.”

And John launches himself forward and catches him so hard in the ribs that he's sure there will be a bruise and he holds on and holds on and the exact configuration of their arms and legs and mouths and bodies are different in every dream, but what matters is the feeling of holding, trapping, keeping.

The dreams end with such a feeling of  _wanting_ that he fears his organs might slip into the pit in the center of his abdomen. Like he is playing host to a supermassive black hole, and one by one his kidneys and his liver and his heart and his lungs are being sucked inexorably down and down and down, out of reality. 

And then life continues. The Tube stops, the line moves, another voice says “Doctor Watson!” with that forced polite cheeriness that Sherlock used to study. And he smiles and he tries to mask the fact that he is not breathing and he tells himself to forget the dream.

But today …

He can’t believe he said it. Aloud. Like a child writing to Father Christmas or praying in church, as though it makes him anything but an idiot.

He can’t believe he said it.

_Stop it._

_Just …_


End file.
